But such thoughts as these could not endure long in minds so young. They passed through the village and soon were in the forests of red cedar. The rain ceased, but in its place came a thick and heavy fog. The mud grew deeper than ever. Progress became very slow. It was difficult in the great foggy veil for the regiments to keep in touch with one another, and occasional shots in front warned them that the enemy was active and watchful. The division barely crept along.
Dick and his comrades were mounted again, and they kept close to Colonel Winchester, who, however, had few orders to send. The command of the corps rested with General McCook, and it behooved him as any private could see, to exercise the utmost caution. They were strangers in the land and the Confederates were not.
Dick had thought that morning that they would get into touch with heavy forces of the enemy before night, but the fog and the mud rendered their advance so slow that at sunset they went into camp in a vast forest of red cedar, still a good distance from Stone River. The fog had lifted somewhat, but the night was heavy, damp and dark. There was an abundance of fallen wood, and the veterans soon built long rows of fires which contributed wonderfully to their cheerfulness.
“There’s nothing like a fine fire on a cold, dark night,” said Sergeant Whitley, holding his hands over the flames. “Out on the plains when there was only a hundred or so of us, an’ nothin’ on any side five hundred miles away ‘xcept hostile Indians, an’ a blizzard whistlin’ an’ roarin’, with the mercury thirty degrees below zero, it was glorious to have a big fire lighted in a hollow or a dip an’ bend over the coals, until the warmth went right through you.”
“It was the power of contrast,” said Warner sagely. “The real comfort from the fire was fifty per cent and the howling of the icy gale, in which you might have frozen to death, but didn’t, was fifty per cent more. That’s why I’m feeling so good now, although I’d say that those red cedars and their dark background are none too cheerful.”
“I’ve got two good blankets,” said Pennington, who was returning from a trip further down the line, “and I’m going to sleep. Haven’t you fellows learned that all your foolish talking before a battle never changes the result? I can tell you this. Our three divisions that are marching toward Murfreesborough are in touch. We’ve put out swarms of scouts and they all tell us so. They know exactly where the enemy is, too, and he’s too far away to surprise us to-night. So it’s sleep, my boys, sleep. Sleep will recover for you so much strength that it will be much harder for you to get killed on the morrow.”
Dick had dried himself very thoroughly before one of the fires, and wrapping himself in his two blankets he slept soundly and heavily. There was fog again the next morning, but they reached a little village called Triune and all through the day they heard the sounds of scattered firing. One of the scouts told Colonel Winchester that the whole Southern army would be concentrated the next day on the line of Stone River, but that it would be inferior to the Union army in numbers by ten thousand men. Bragg’s force, however, had the advantage of experience, being composed almost wholly of veterans.
It was on the afternoon of this day that Dick came into personal contact with General Thomas again. He had been sent through the cedar forest with dispatches to him from General McCook, and after the general had read them he glanced at the messenger.
“You reached General Buell safely with my letter, Lieutenant Mason,” he said, “and I’m very glad to see you here with us again.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Dick, feeling an immense pride because this man, whom he admired so much, remembered him.
“It was a difficult duty and you did it well. I found that you got through safely. I made inquiries about you and I traced you as far as Shiloh, but I could get no further.”